


No Denying Something So True

by littledaybreaker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledaybreaker/pseuds/littledaybreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Flames used a draft day trade to pick up quasi-out established player Brandon Bollig to support not-exactly-out rookie Johnny Gaudreau, this probably wasn't what they had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Denying Something So True

**Author's Note:**

> This fic ignores the fact that Johnny played at the end of the '13-'14 season with the Flames and pretends he started at the beginning of the '14-'15 season. 
> 
> Also, you will never convince me that cluster-following a bunch of girls who take bikini selfies isn't an NHL trick to defray suspicion from gay players' gayness. I'm looking at you, Jason Demers.
> 
> Title is from Arkells' 11:11.

_I was back at the bar, you had your eyes on the stage_

_You had an "x" on your hand to tell 'em your age_

_I didn't put money on it, but I was hoping you would be here_

_If I was something that you ever wanted, I'm all ears_

_~_ Arkells, "11:11"

 

“So what you’re saying,” Johnny says, “is that you’re here to be my gay babysitter.” 

“I’m here because the Hawks needed picks and the Flames needed my skills,” Brandon corrects him. “ _Not_ to be your gay babysitter.” He immediately braces himself for the inevitable  _what skills_?, but it doesn’t come. He supposes that kind of chirping is better left reserved for people you’ve actually played a game with, anyway. Or sat on the bench and watched? Nonetheless. 

 

What he doesn’t expect is for the kid to look almost…disappointed? But he does. He’s looking down at his lap like he was just informed that there was no Santa Claus. “Oh…” he says. “because they told me…” 

Brandon feels a momentary nervous clench in his stomach. It's is ridiculous, given the circumstances. “Who told you what?” he asks, and it comes out more accusatory than he meant it to. “Uh, sorry. They told you what?” 

Johnny is looking at him like he’s got four heads. “They  _told me,”_ he tries again, “that someone would be here to…help support me.”

_Well why the fuck are you so special?_ Brandon thinks, because he’s pretty sure nobody ever even thought to give  _him_ a gay babysitter—support person—whatever—when  _he_ was a rookie. What he says is an extremely eloquent “what?” 

Now Johnny is looking at him like he’s just stupid. Brandon can’t tell if this is better or worse than looking at him like he’s an alien. “I’m gay,” Johnny explains, “everybody already knows—my parents, all my friends, everybody. I even had boyfriends when I was in college. But the NHL is different, you know, and so they said that they were calling a guy, an older guy who’d been in the league a little longer…someone who could help me figure out how to deal with it, I guess.”

Brandon can’t place exactly why, but he can’t help pitying the kid. He’s just so young and idealistic and nobody has broken him yet. “Okay, well…yeah.” Brandon takes off his hat, rumpling his hair, and then jams it back on his head. “From this moment forward, you’re straight.” 

Johnny blinks at him. “What?” 

“From this moment forward,” Brandon repeats, “you’re straight. You’ve never had a boyfriend. You’ve never even entertained the idea that you could have a boyfriend. You think women are really, really good looking.” 

Johnny gives him a blank look, and there’s that pang of pity again. “But I don’t,” he says, tone flat.

“ _Neither do I,_ ” Brandon points out. “But nobody has to know that. As far as anyone knows, I’m hooking up with women on the regular.” 

“But you’re not.” Recognition appears to be finally dawning, but it doesn’t exactly look like he’s enjoying the recognition. Brandon suppresses the absurd desire to reach over and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Nah. I hook up on occasion, sure, but not with women.” He gives Johnny a pointed look and adds, “you shouldn’t do that. Hook up. Not until you’re more experienced with hiding it at least.” 

Johnny looks all flustered and starts picking at the edge of the chair. “I, oh, I wasn’t…” 

“Good. Now, you should probably do some stuff to make yourself appear straight. They didn’t take your Twitter and stuff away, did they? If you still have your own passwords and stuff, follow some girls. I don’t care who. Just find a bunch of girls who post half-naked selfies all the time and follow them. Demers’ Instagram is pretty good for that but you should probably follow some local girls, too. If anyone asks you about your dating life, tell them that you’re focused on hockey. If you can avoid talking about your personal life at all, that works out even better. If you can’t avoid it just talk about how you’re focused on hockey and not wanting to date anyone. You can make up an ex girlfriend or whatever if for some reason you need to but you’re just a kid. You can get away with talking about how you’re single and that’s it. Don’t go to gay bars or anything. If you need we can figure out what clubs have a decent gay presence without being gay bars, but it’s better if you just stay in or just go out with the guys on the team.” 

Johnny, for his part, looks crestfallen taking this all in. “I don’t go out anyway,” he says quietly.  

Brandon puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in,” he says, voice gentler than it was before. “But it’s not that bad once you get into the swing of it. And if you need anything, you can call or text me. You’ve got my number, right?” 

Johnny nods, shrugging away from the hand on his shoulder. Brandon tries really hard not to take it personally. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” 

“Any time, buddy.” 

 

When Johnny gets back to the hotel, he lays down on the bed and cries for twenty minutes. He misses the safety and relative anonymity of Boston, misses feeling safe and secure in his own identity. It wasn’t like he had ever been out there flaunting it, but he also wasn’t being shoved into the proverbial closet with his mouth duct taped shut, either. It’s enough to make him want to call his parents and tell them to pick him up because he wants to go home. Which is stupid, because he’s an adult and he doesn’t need his mom and dad to come rescue him. Instead, rolls off the bed, splashes cold water on his face, and wanders down to the hotel bar, where he orders a beer. He drinks it slowly while halfway checking out a cute business dude in his early 30s at the other end of the bar. He feels a rush of satisfaction when the cute business dude checks him out right back. 

 

No sooner has he finished his beer than another one appears in front of him. “Courtesy of the gentleman to your right,” the bartender informs him. Johnny perks up, proud of himself for no discernible reason.  _Take that, Bollig,_ he thinks, winking at the guy.  _If he comes over here, I’ll go upstairs with him, no questions asked._ Never mind that he’s never actually done anything beyond fumble around awkwardly in the dark, a fit of defiance seems like a perfectly reasonable way to lose his virginity. the guy leaves without coming over, and Johnny finishes his second beer before meandering out, tipsy and sort of put out by the whole thing. 

 

He’s half-hard by the time he gets up to his room, the kind of turned on that stems from too much beer and not enough sexual attention, so he shimmies out of his pants and wraps his hand around his  cock. He attempts to conjure a fantasy about cute business dude from the bar and instead comes up with big hands, a rough beard, and a backwards baseball cap. With a handful of firm strokes he comes all over his stomach with Brandon’s name on his lips.

 

When he wakes up in the morning there’s a text on his phone from Brandon. He allows himself a moment of panic at the idea that he possibly texted him while he was tipsy and horny. A quick scan of his texts assures him he did not. And besides, Brandon’s text is casual enough:  _Hey buddy, you holding up? Want some brunch?_ so Johnny shakes it off and texts back  _yeah, give me 20 minutes to shower and i’ll meet you somewhere?_

_I’ll come pick you up_ , comes the reply. For some reason it gives Johnny a little frisson of nervous excitement, like it’s a  _date._ He knows it’s not—Brandon was so adamant about not hooking up and acting straight that there’s no way he’d be doing anything romantic—but Johnny can pretend. He’s showered and dressed in less than ten minutes and spends the next ten minutes trying to fix his hair before giving up and jamming a baseball cap on his head. He makes a mental note to maybe get a haircut before the season starts. 

 

If it’s possible that Brandon got better looking overnight, he did. Johnny is suddenly unable to remember what to do with his hands or his feet. He settles for shoving his hands in his back pockets and rocking back on his heels, avoiding Brandon’s eyes. “Hey,” Brandon says, “are you okay? You seemed kind of overwhelmed last night.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Johnny says, a little too quickly. “It was nothing. Where are we going?”

Brandon gives him a weird look, but blessedly he doesn’t pry too much into it. “There’s a place down the street I heard really good things about. We can even walk there,” he says.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Johnny agrees, and gets really interested in fumbling with the brochures about Calaway Park and the zoo by the door. He’s sure Brandon is on to him by now, but Brandon still says nothing about it, not even as they finally leave the hotel and start walking in the direction of the brunch restaurant. They chat idly about their respective alma maters, about baseball and about books—this surprises Johnny, he hadn’t pegged Brandon as a reader—and it’s nice. Johnny’s so caught up in the moment that he’s not even nervous. 

 

“You said you’ve had boyfriends before?” Brandon asks once they’re seated, mimosas in hand. For some reason the question makes Johnny want to jump out of his skin. He focuses on the menu on a chalkboard just above Brandon’s left ear. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter than he meant to. “One in high school and then one in my second year of college. I broke up with him when I decided to play in the NHL.” It wasn’t exactly all that simple, but Brandon doesn’t need to know  _that_ mess. “What about you?” 

“Nah,” Brandon says dismissively, glancing through his menu. “Not really. I’m more of a casual hookup kind of guy, you know? Do you think the hollandaise sauce is any good? Sometimes it’s shit.”

“Uh. It says it’s homemade, so…yeah. I’m gonna get the eggs Benedict.” The comment about casual hookups is too much for Johnny to process right now, so he just ignores it. Until…

“You have sex with either of those guys?” 

Johnny freezes, every muscle of his body on alert. He suddenly develops an intense interest in the people walking outside the restaurant window and downing his coffee. “Uh,” he says.

“Look at me,” Brandon commands him.

Johnny jerks his head up, still panicking, and stares at Brandon's forehead. It should  _not_ be that hot, being commanded to do things like that. "No," he says finally. "I wanted to, but it didn't work out for me. I'm probably the only virgin on the team," he laments. It wasn't supposed to come out sounding that whiny, but it does, and all he can think is  _I hope that doesn't turn him off._ Which is absurd, because Brandon never said he was turned on in the first place. 

"Never?" Brandon asks, his tone unreadable. 

Johnny tries his hardest to keep his eyes focused on Brandon's forehead. "Never," he replies, swallowing hard. "I--Alex, my last boyfriend, we did stuff but never  _that._ " 

"Do you want to?" Brandon asks. Johnny is  _really_  glad that he didn't take another drink of his coffee. 

"What?" 

"To have actual sex. Some guys aren't into that." 

"Oh," Johnny says, and relaxes. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

"Hm." Brandon closes his menu. "I think I'll get the pancakes." 

 

The rest of brunch moves much more slowly than Johnny would like it to. He orders the eggs Benedict, Brandon orders the pancakes, and they eat in relative silence. Brandon pays the bill amid Johnny's protests. They walk back to the hotel in the same vaguely uncomfortable silence as they'd eaten in. 

In the lobby, Johnny's trying to figure out how he can escape so he can jerk off to Brandon again when Brandon closes the space between them and says into Johnny's ear, "Are you going to invite me upstairs or do I have to invite myself?"

Johnny swallows hard, trying to collect himself. "I," he begins, then sputters for a moment before finally getting it together. "Do you wanna come upstairs with me?"

"Yeah," Brandon agrees. He takes Johnny by the hand and leads him into the elevator. The second the doors close, his mouth is on Johnny's. He backs him up against the wall, his hands in his hair. Johnny kisses back eagerly, his own hands running all over Brandon's back, his mind a mess of  _yes yes yes yes yes_. He barely registers when the elevator dings. Thankfully, Brandon does, taking him by the hand and leading him out. There's a moment of awkward fumbling for the room key at the door but as soon as they're through, Brandon's got Johnny against the wall again and there's no time for anxiety about it.

" _Fuck,_ " Johnny mumbles when Brandon breaks the kiss to press kisses down his jaw, and Brandon smirks. "You like that," he says, voice husky, and Johnny bobs his head in agreement. Brandon's big hands are all over Johnny's body. Johnny's already ridiculously turned on, his cock stirring in his pants. "I want," he begins. Thankfully Brandon figures out what he means because he's terrible at dirty talk. All at once, Brandon is pulling his shirt over his head, pressing kisses to Johnny's collarbones. The beard against Johnny's chest is even better than he'd imagined. He whimpers Brandon's name, provoking a smirk. "So impatient," he says, guiding Johnny over to the bed. It feels like his hands are  _everywhere,_ and Johnny is a squirming, ridiculously turned on mess on the bed. He tugs at Brandon's shirt until Brandon helps him pull it off. Once it's off, he takes a moment to appreciate Brandon's body, running his hands over his chest. "God, you're sexy," he says, and Brandon smirks again. 

"So are you," he says, tugging Johnny's pants off. Johnny lifts his hips to facilitate, trying to kiss Brandon all the while. "You're so worked up," Brandon adds, wrapping his hand around Johnny's cock and giving it a few gentle strokes. "I'm going to take good care of you."

Johnny shudders, nodding. He has one hand on Brandon's back and the other gripping the sheets, trying his hardest not to fall apart. "Please," he whispers, but he's not sure what he's asking for. Brandon smirks again. "Can you get on your knees for me?" he asks, and Johnny complies instantly, looking over his shoulder at Brandon. "I have lube in the drawer," he says helpfully.

"Mm," Brandon replies noncommittally, kneeling behind Johnny, who is momentarily confused by this particular course of action. He wriggles impatiently and Brandon laughs, holding his hips still. Leaning in and gently he experimentally flicks his tongue against Johnny. 

"Ah!" Johnny gasps. He wasn't expecting  _that,_ but it's not unpleasant. In fact, it's the opposite. He rolls his hips in what he hopes is encouragement, provoking a chuckle out of Brandon. "Keep still," Brandon instructs. The hand holding his hips tightens as he returns to his task, working Johnny open with his tongue until he's leaking against his stomach, begging for more. Just when Johnny  _almost_ can't take it anymore, is  _almost_ about to come apart under Brandon's hands, he pulls back. Johnny collapses pathetically against the mattress, whimpering. "Don't  _tease,_ " he says. Brandon smirks at him. "So impatient," he says. "What drawer is the lube in?" 

"Uh." Johnny's mind is a complete blank, too turned on to even be anxious. "Top--left?"

There's a momentary rummaging sound. "Got it," Brandon says, leaning over to kiss the small of Johnny's back as he uncaps the lube, slicking his fingers. "Deep breaths," he says as he eases the first finger inside. "Just relax."

It hurts at first, hurts enough that Johnny almost wants him to stop. But he breathes through it, letting every muscle in his body relax. Before long the pain gives way to minor discomfort and then, when Brandon crooks his finger  _just so_ , an intense feeling of pleasure. "Fuck," he whimpers, rolling his hips back. "Fuck, Brandon." 

"That's the idea," Brandon says. Johnny is so turned on it doesn't even register how corny it is. Brandon eases a second finger inside, moving them together, and Johnny moans and whimpers his name and rolls his hips in time with with the movement of Brandon's fingers until he's completely relaxed. "Good boy," Brandon murmurs, withdrawing his fingers. "Don't touch yourself," he warns as he backs away. Johnny's cock is  _so_ hard, practically dripping against his stomach, but he knows that he has to be obedient or he's not going to get fucked. In this moment, there's nothing he wants more than that, so he obeys. 

There's some more rustling, a sound of tearing, and then the lube being uncapped again. Brandon is behind him again, his hands on his hips, and he leans in close, using Johnny's hair to pull him in for a kiss. "Are you sure you're ready?" Brandon asks, using one hand to gently rub across Johnny's shoulder blades, a surprising act of tenderness. "We don't have to do this part if you don't want to. I can just eat you out or finger you until you come." 

It's the first time Johnny has even thought to be anxious, but Brandon's gentle voice and hand on his shoulders are reassuring enough that it's not full on panic. There's no hesitation when he says "I'm ready," and he knows it's the truth. Brandon kisses between his shoulders, then settles between his legs, pressing just the head of his cock inside. "Nice and slow," he says. "Deep breaths. That's it, baby." 

_Baby_. Johnny shudders, rolling his hips, trying to take more of Brandon in. The stretch is different from fingers, but he's so relaxed, so turned on, that there's no pain this time. "Good boy," Brandon murmurs. He gently eases the rest of the way inside and beginning to thrust. He's slow at first, following Johnny's lead. Soon it's not enough, and Johnny rolls his hips back more insistently until Brandon figures out the rhythm he wants. 

It doesn't take much before Johnny is  _this close_ , moaning Brandon's name and thrusting back against him, but he doesn't touch himself. His knuckles are white from gripping the sheets and his cock is twitching with every thrust against his prostate, but he doesn't touch himself, trying to be good. He knows he won't be able to come without it, though, so he turns his head to look at Brandon over his shoulder. "Please," he says urgently, "please, Brandon." 

Brandon uses his hair to pull him in for another kiss (Johnny makes a mental note that he's  _definitely_ not going to get his hair cut now). "You've been so good," Brandon says, "Go ahead and touch yourself, baby." 

Gratefully, Johnny wraps his hand around his cock, stroking with hard, firm strokes. "Say it again," he murmurs, and Brandon leans in. "Come for me, baby," he says, and that's it. The combination of the angle, his own hand on his cock, and Brandon's voice in his ear sends Johnny over the edge. He comes so hard that for a moment the world goes white and he shudders, hips rocking against Brandon's. Everyone in the neighboring rooms probably knows exactly what's going on but in the moment, Johnny can't bring himself to care.

Brandon follows after a few thrusts later, coming with a loud grunt. He pulls Johnny in for another kiss and then goes to take care of the condom, returning a few moments later with a warm washcloth. "Turn over," he says, "you made a mess of yourself." 

Johnny, blissed out and sleepy, rolls over, a goofy smile on his face. Brandon leans in to kiss him, chuckling, and then gently cleans all the come off of Johnny's stomach and chest. He tosses the washcloth onto the pile of discarded clothes, making a mental note to give Johnny a twenty to tip the housekeeping staff. After another gentle kiss, he pulls Johnny into his arms, holding him there. Johnny contentedly tucks his head into the crook of Brandon's neck, sighing. He's almost asleep when Brandon finally speaks. "You okay, bud?" 

Johnny smiles sleepily. "Way better than okay." 

Brandon kisses the top of his head. "Have a nap," he says. "Then we'll order room service and I'll make good on that promise to eat you out til you come." 

"I'll hold you to that," Johnny says, and then he's out. 

Brandon watches him sleep for a few moments. There's a tender feeling clenching in his chest. Somehow he already knows that somehow this scrawny, awkward, incredibly shy kid is going to work his way into his heart and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. "It's gonna be a hell of a season, kid," he says aloud, tightening his grip around Johnny's waist before closing his own eyes, letting his breathing even out until he, too, is asleep.


End file.
